


Honey, most of them are true

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cat Chewbacca, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Magic-Users, Magical Realism, Non-Linear Narrative, Prophecy, Warlocks, Witchcraft, Witches, mentions of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: "That’s why you’re this way.”"This way?“"Brimful of magic.” His voice shifts a little. Gets raspier. “Leaking it.”"I—”“You’re all over. It’s distracting.” Ren turns over his palm and stares at it, as if looking for traces of Rey’s magic.“I’m not—”“You are. But it’s fine.” He’s still not looking at her. “It’s sweet. Just… cranking me up.”





	Honey, most of them are true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CardiganVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardiganVixen/gifts).



> For Dani, who is amazing, and hilarious, and amazingly hilarious! 💖Happy (belated) birthday. As you know, I am the slowest writer in the history of writing, but I promise I wrote this with love!
> 
> Note: I don't know much about witches and fantasy and similar things, sorry in advance! 😊💕

 

 

Rey’s familiar comes to her late, two full months after her fourteenth birthday. 

Nevertheless, he comes. 

On a half-moon night after a day of snowstorms, in a cold so biting that her eyelashes keep sticking together and Maz’s frozen car engine cannot be revived, no matter how strong the warming charms Rey casts on it. She feels him before she sees him, a large presence that pulls at her: a huge wolf with a scar bisecting his right eye, fur shiny and black and thick, and eyes that are…

“Pretty.”

She smiles. And then she doesn’t, because the wolf is _giant_ , so big that surely it cannot be a simple wolf _, can it_ , and Rey’s still figuring her magic out, her defense spells are hit or miss on a good day, and the beast is—advancing and circling her and staring intently like she’s food or a chew toy or some kind of— 

It’s nothing but elegant, the way he sits at her feet and tilts his head, baring his throat to her.

It takes Rey several seconds to break free of her paralysis. And several more to gingerly reach out and pat him on the head.

He immediately leans against her hand, and Rey stays out in the cold until Maz calls her back inside for dinner, listening to the low purring sounds coming from his chest.

 

…

 

According to the elders, the Circle of the Resistance used to be the most powerful coven across the Americas. It seems impossible today, or at least implausible, what with how few members are left and the way the First Order’s magic coats every corner of every street, dense and viscous like vinyl glue. Rey cannot quite believe that things were ever different, let alone less than two decades ago.

“It was her son, who turned the tide,” Poe tells her while mixing compost and vermiculite in the flowerbed.

The soil smells rich and wet, ready to absorb the sunlight. “Whose son?”

“Oh. Leia’s. Went off to train with Luke and somehow got mixed up with Snoke, the highest priest of the Order.” He shrugs, leaning forward to grab a bag of garlic. “He was always… It’s different, his magic. From anything else. It’s blunt and powerful and unstable, like something out of control. Like one false move, and it’d erupt.” He is not looking at Rey anymore. Not paying attention to the seeds in his hand, either. “It almost reminds me of…” Poe doesn’t continues, and instead shakes his head and smiles wide. 

“Anyway. You’ll have to make sure you add at least six inches of mulch. Pass the bag?”

 

…

 

“Prophecies always come in threes,” Maz says, her back to Rey as she chops dried pomegranate on a wooden board. There is a pot simmering on the electric range cooktop, and the scent of sandalwood and lingonberry is warming up Rey from the inside. Maz’s Maine Coon is rubbing against Rey’s calves, blue eyes blinking up at her and begging for scraps of food. “But any given person can only know—don’t you feed thatginger snap to Chewie.” Maz wags her ladle at Rey, who shoots the cat an apologetic glance. “One person can only be privy to one third of each prophecy. ”

“But why?"

Maz shrugs. “It's the order of things.” 

“You know all three parts of mine, though. It’s unfair.” 

“Seer’s privilege." Maz scoffs. "Quit bitching, child.”

“I wish I was one, too.” Rey leans her head against her arm, propped on the heavy oak table. “A seer, I mean.”

Maz tries a sip of her brew, and makes a face. “Ah, too sweet. Why?”

“I don’t know. To see the future. To know how things will turn out to be. Lotto numbers, maybe?”

“You wish you were mortal, then? You would forsake your powers for money?”

_No. Yes. I don’t know._ “Is that why you’re not part of a coven? Because you’re mortal?”

“You witches and warlocks.” Maz shakes her head and clucks her tongue at Rey. “You’re a belligerent lot. Seers are the keepers of balance. We just want to be left out of your petty skirmishes.”

Rey chuckles. “Yes, okay. So, the prophecies. They come in threes.”

“Correct.”

“And _my_ third of _my_ prophecy is that I will defeat Kylo Ren—”

“Conquer. Conquer, that’s what the prophecy says, child.”

“Whatever. Same difference.”

“Words are _paramount_.” 

“Fine. Conquer.” Rey nods appeasingly. Words are just that—words. She’ll vanquish him, hopefully. Destroy him, kill him, and his defeat will surely help the Circle of the Resistance bring the path of the light to the world. It’s written, after all. It has been seen. Leia and Luke have given her a home and a way to _shape_ it, to _control_ it, this energy flowing inside her that always seemed like it would crack her from within, and destroying Kylo Ren is the least Rey can do to repay them—if only she could finally _meet_ him. Face him, and prove herself. “And the other two parts of the prophecy are…”

“Not yours to hold.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Does Kylo Ren know them?”

Maz smiles. “He knows what he needs to know.”

“Does he know that I’ll defeat him?”

“ _Conquer_.” Maz sighs. And then coughs, large heaves that seize her and make her small frame quake. Rey grips the edge of the table until the wheezing stops and Maz clears her throat. “Kids, these days. Here.” She sets a steaming mug in front of Rey, leaves of mint floating to the top and coloring its scent. “Now, child. Can you help me set up this Tinder thingamabob once more? How do I get one of those handsome young men to take me out on a date?”

 

…

 

“There is only one rule,” Luke says, and even though his voice is pitched low, it still echoes across the high walls of the chamber. 

“Well,” Leia chuckles from behind him. She is leaning against her cane, even though she’s sat down in a velvet chair. For some reason, seeing her like that squeezes something inside Rey’s throat. “There are many rules. And regulations, guidelines, ordinances, bylaws, suggestions, requirements—”

“Yes, yes.” Luke rolls his eyes and smiles softly. Twins are the most magical of beings, and even more than for their powers, Rey envies Luke and Leia for the bond they share. It’s bloodborne, and thus it cannot be taken away from them. 

Unlike everything Rey has ever had.

“You _will_ get in trouble for not doing your dishes and laundry, and please, no rock music after eleven PM. Or whatever it is that teenagers listen to, nowadays. You’re what, fourteen? fifteen?” Leia winks and looks mischievously from Finn to Rey. The two newcomers. Not quite part of the coven yet. Still on thin ice, still figuring it out. Rey lowers her gaze to the black and white mosaic under her feet, and inches close to Finn. 

“What I meant, is: there is only one rule that will warrant expulsion from the the Circle of the Resistance. And from any other coven that follows the path of the light, however few of us there might be left.” Luke steps closer, and Rey can see how rugged his face is. How uncompromising. His magic is pushing at the edges of Rey’s and it’s not—not entirely pleasant. “We do not put ourselves between death and mortals.”

 

…

 

He’s an odd one, as far as familiars go. Or maybe it’s Rey who’s odd. Never quite knowing what to expect.

He’s never there for sabbath. Or for her formal pledging to the coven, when she turns twenty, or when she has to walk the woods at night to complete her changeover, a painful, everlasting,  _humid_ journey through a black forest. He doesn’t stand by her when she thanks the Quarters, or when she goes on the missions Leia assigns to her. 

“Does he, like… live in Canada?” Kaydel giggles, her owl perched on her shoulder, and Rey just smiles and rolls her eyes. 

“Funny.”

“No, really. If he just, you know, doesn’t _exist_ , it’s totally fine. It’s not like a familiar is a requirement for—”

Rey draws a circle of silence around herself, and proceeds to ignore the entire coven for twenty minutes.

At times, he is gone for weeks or months—long enough that Rey wonders if she had just imagined him, and then—then, he shows up.

One morning he blocks her front door, his tall, strong body nudging her back inside and preventing her from getting to her car and then her office—and Rey pushes back, casts a stunning spell, physically _fights_ him for minutes, one hour, but nothing works and eventually she gives up, deciding to work from home. He lies on her porch the whole day, looking a little lazy and entirely unbothered by Rey’s glare through the living room window, only leaving when the sky is dark and misty. A few minutes later, Poe texts her about the three multi-car crashes that happened on the highway leading to her work, and asks if she had problems with the black ice while driving.

He drops a backpack full of canned goods on her porch when she is snowed in for three days, and he runs next to her in the woods when she’s on one of her fitness kicks. He even curls up in bed with her when it’s so cold that her boiler croaks and the temperature won’t go above forty degrees, her toes frostier than icicles.

He’s an odd one, her wolf. And Rey, as it turns out, is not opposed to odd.

 

…

 

She is seventeen, when she sees her first battle. 

She doesn’t like it, the fighting. The magic exploding in all directions, unbidden and cutting, a mess of spells and hexes and barely controlled power. It’s too much like what’s inside of her, Rey thinks. Too unpredictable. 

It’s the Order that prevails, dozens of deaths on both sides of the fight in exchange for a handful of magic runes.

“I don’t think I want to do it. Ever again.”

“Do what?” Maz asks from her chair by the fireplace, without bothering to open her eyes. She has been old for many years, ever since Rey first met her, but lately—lately she _looks_ old. Her voice is thin more often than not, and Rey has spotted store-bought tea bags in the cupboard above the toaster. Not a good sign.

“Fight alongside the coven.”

It gets her a long, unblinking stare.

“I mean—I will. If I have to, for the coven. But—I don’t know, it seems…” Aimless? Pointless? Not worth it? Wrong. _Wrong_ , is the word that fits.

“Why do you think you _have_ to?”

“Because—I do. The prophecy. I will destroy Kylo Ren, and he—”

Maz smiles, and closes her eyes again, leaning back against the chair. “My child,” she murmurs. “Nothing has brought me more joy than taking you away from Plutt all those years ago. But let me tell you—you are as dense as a basaltic rock.”

Maz falls asleep ignoring Rey’s glare, who is still wondering whether she should be affronted or pleased.

 

…

 

“Focus on the light, and dig inside yourself. Feel it—really _feel_ it, and then reach for it. Take it. Hold it. Your mind, it’s a harness. Not too tight, or it will burn from the inside. Not too loose, or you will—” 

Luke’s voice stops abruptly the moment Rey loses control of her magic, a wave flaring up and crashing against his defenses. Rey can feel them split in long cracks before she finally manages to gather herself, to pull _back_ and slither away from—

“No! No. You need to _control_ your magic—you’re _just like_ —”

He shuts his mouth tight, and then his eyes. And then he opens them, and the cracks in his walls are gone, filled with something opaque and bitter tasting.

“Again.” He takes a deep breath. “From the beginning, Rey.”

 

…

 

When she opens the front door Chewie is meowing so loudly, Rey is sure she must have stepped on his tail. She squats down to apologize and pats her pocket for a treat, but he seems to be uninterested in food. 

That’s when she begins to worry.

She finds Maz lying face down on the parquet in the dining room, unconscious but still breathing. Rey’s heart stops in her chest, and doesn’t start beating again until hours later, after the ambulance ride, and the admittance to the ER, and that tired, apologetic smile that Maz manages to scrape together.

“Are you related to Ms Kanata?” the Doctor asks Rey when she steps out to give Leia a call.

_She is all I have. And I am all she has._ “Yes,” she says, because it seems easier.

“Well, then.” The man has dark skin and kind eyes. And a sad, sorrowful smile. “You should start putting her affairs in order.”

 

…

 

When she finally steps out of the hospital to find an Uber and go back to her apartment, he is waiting for her in the parking lot.

He butts his muzzle against her hip, and lets her hug him and cry into his fur as she waits for Derek to pick her up in his Nissan Altima.

 

…

 

Rey waits until about halfway through their usual jogging route before asking. 

“But what if we did?”

Rose plucks an AirPod out of her ear. “Mmm?” 

“Interfere. What if we did?”

“Oh.” Rose is panting. “I don’t think we should. Poe’ll pull his head out of his ass one of these days. I kind of get it—it’s hard to ask people out on a date, and Finn is not the most approachable of—”

“No—No. Not interfere in…" Rey exhales. "In the lives of mortals. What if we—what if we _did_ use our magic to save them. Like we heal plants, and even animals sometimes, we could maybe heal…”

Rey trails off, because Rose stops running. And she is—not even breathing heavily anymore. Just standing there, open mouthed and wide eyed, _gaping_ at Rey for several seconds until she clutches her arm and drags her bodily behind one of the willow trees. An impressive feat, considering that Rose’s five inches shorter and several pounds lighter.

“What are you—”

“Are you _crazy_? To even _say_ that? Out _loud_?”

“I just—”

“It’s _dark magic_ you’re talking about.”

Rey feels her cheeks heat. “I’m just—I don’t mean any harm. I don’t—I’m not interested in dark magic. I’m just—I’m just wondering if—”  

Rose bares her teeth. “Ben Solo. Do you know why Leia’s son was kicked out of the coven?”

_Ben? Ben Solo?_ “He was—he wasn’t kicked out.” Rey blinks. That’s what Poe said, right? “He left when Snoke—”

“He wanted to save his _grandfather_. To prevent his death, or bring him back, or something idiotic like that—that’s why he went to Snoke.” Rose snorts. “Couldn’t learn that from Luke, right? So he went to Snoke, and that’s how we began to lose this entire _stupid_ war. That’s how my sister died in my _arms_ , Rey.”

Rey wonders if Rose is aware of the tears streaming down her neck. No, she doesn't seem to be. 

“I’m sorry.” She frees her arm, and pulls Rose into a tight hug, tucking her face under her chin. “I am so, so sorry.”

Rey makes her decision while her friend sobs into her shoulder.

 

…

 

He’s not hard to find. 

He is, _literally_ , in the phonebook. Which is, _apparently_ , a thing that still exists.

The hard part is waiting in the freezing cold for someone to open the door to his apartment building, and then sneaking in undetected. Even the best of her unlocking spells, of course, don’t seem to work. Clearly Kylo Ren knows what he’s doing, when it comes to keeping burglars and witches out.

His apartment is on the uppermost floor, but Rey begins to feel traces of him the second she steps on the elevator. It’s—magic. _Magic_. Flowing magic. Plunging magic. Wet, rippling magic that has her pupils dilating and an unfamiliar warmth coiling inside her and it’s just—yeah. Good. She is almost out of breath when she knocks on his door, and his energy, it pulls at her in a way that’s nothing like Leia’s or Rose’s, nothing like Luke’s, nothing like other powerful warlocks’. 

_It’s because it’s dark_ , she tells herself. It must be.

It doesn’t occur to her until he opens the door, that he is _letting_ her feel him. Not until he stands in front of her with a patient, unsurprised expression, his eyes as dark as his magic.

She had a whole speech prepared. A long one. And yet the only thing that comes out of her mouth is, “Oh.”

Ren takes a step back and opens the door further.

“Come in, Rey.”

 

…

 

There is this feeling in his apartment, this feeling that he could burn her to a crisp. This feeling that she belongs to him, just by virtue of being in his presence. His magic works deliciously on her, lapping at her edges and coating her with its prints, slipping in and out of her mind; making her own magic roar to life.

It’s… unusual.

Rey lets her body react and follows his broad back down the hallway, into a kitchen that seems remarkably… mundane. Not even a pot of rosemary, or a wooden ladle. Just steel appliances, a fancy microwave, and three different boxes of Lucky Charms on top of the fridge.

He looks at her, and something sizzles between them. Rey can feel it under her fingertips, she can feel it in _him_. It’s as if—his magic is drawn to hers. 

Possibly a little more than that. 

“Anything to drink?”

She shakes her head, even though her throat is dry.

“Okay, then.” He crosses his arms on his chest and leans against the counter, and Rey’s heart stumbles. He is very large. Those eyes. And his scar—she wants to know who put it there. She wants to _touch it_. She wants to know if she’ll be the one to kill him. “How may I help you?”

Rey is not sure why she can’t quite breathe, all of a sudden. She already knew what he looked like. She thought.

“My…” _Your what, Rey? Your what?_ “Someone I care about is sick.” She hesitates before adding the obvious. “She is a mortal.”

Ren’s jaw works, and he studies her for long minutes.

“Very well.”

 

…

 

It takes Rey twenty minutes and three quarters of a bag of treats to convince Chewie to get inside the crate. And later, when she frees him in her bedroom, he hisses and growls at her plush toys for half the night. 

“I know this is not ideal,” she murmurs when he finally comes to rest on her pillow, right by her head. “You’ll be back home soon. I promise I’m working on it.”

Chewie stares at her, unblinking. Like he’ll hold her to it.

 

…

 

He might be a dark warlock, but he is not scary.

Or maybe he is. Rey hasn’t made up her mind yet. 

All she knows is that it’s hard to think of him as the most powerful among the high priests of the First Order when he snorts out a laugh at the way Rey gathers her magic.

“Did Luke teach you that?” He is smiling. A touch condescending, but mostly amused.

Rey is just confused. “To gather my magic?”

“To do it like that.”

“I—” Rey stammers. “I look for the light, and then I seize the seed and reach for it, and—”

“That fucker,” Ren mutters. “Reach for _all_ of it. Doing magic using only a fragment of it is akin to filling a glass with a dripping faucet when there’s a waterfall right in front of you. _God_. That’s why you’re this way.”

“This way?“

”Brimful of magic.” His voice shifts a little. Gets raspier. “Leaking it.”

“I—”

“You’re all over. It’s distracting.” Ren turns over his palm and stares at it, as if looking for traces of Rey’s magic.

“I’m not—” 

“You are. But it’s fine.” He’s still not looking at her. “It’s sweet. Just… cranking me up.”

Rey has no idea what to say. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, and waves his hand. “Do it again. Reach for it, and not for the light. You’re not going to heal anything more complex than a potted fern, with the _light_.” He steps closer, and his power seeps into Rey before melting in her stomach. It’s possible that she moans. Ren definitely grunts, and then exhales. “ _Leaking_. I told you. Close your eyes.” 

She obeys, and immediately feels his thumb onto her forehead. Like—like he is drawing his sigil. On her.

“Can you feel it, Rey?”

She can. It’s like a pool, deep and murky in the center of her. Nothing like the see-through shallow she has learned to work with.

“Why are you helping me?” she asks without opening her eyes. 

“You asked me to.” His thumb is moving from her forehead to her cheekbone. Another sigil, or maybe—maybe he’s just touching her.

“Why, though?”

His entire palm slides to her face, cupping her cheek, and it’s— _raw_. Visceral. Liquid.

“Maybe I just want steal away my mother’s most powerful witch.” She can smell him, this close. And he smells like the woods. Like he runs in them. “Because they won’t let you stay, once they find out what you’re doing.” His tone is not threatening. Just facts. “And they _will_ find out.” 

“I am not…” She has to swallow. “I am not that powerful.”

“Mmm. You have no idea, do you?”

Rey’s eyes spring open, and his hand falls his side. The bond between then, it remains, thrumming, vibrating. They really are exceptionally compatible. This could get—out of hand, pretty quickly.

_The prophecy_ , she thinks. _The prophecy._

“I won’t join you. I won’t join the Order.”

Ren smiles wistfully. “I know.”

 

…

 

“How’s Maz doing?”

Rey looks up from tying her boots, and smiles weakly at Luke. “Oh. Better.” She bites her lip. “She’s getting much better. She should be back at home in a couple of days.”

Luke looks down at her with a scowl, his energy a delicate push against Rey’s mind. She seals herself to keep him out, and smiles wider. 

“Is she?”

“Yep.” Rey stands and wipes her hands on the back of her jeans. “Chewie will be relieved, right?”

Luke’s jaw clenches.

The following week, when the coven meets for sabbath, Rey doesn’t show up. Instead, she knocks on Ren’s door.

 

…

 

“Why were you not surprised to see me?” she asks halfway through her glass of wine. 

It is, after all, the question she came here to ask. It’s unclear, why she would need liquid courage to do so.

“I told you.” He is not drinking. Or maybe he is. Leaning back in his chair, staring, drinking Rey down. “You don’t know what do with yourself. You have so much power, it spills out of you.” The air between them smells sweet and hot. She can feel his magic twine across her skin. “You need a teacher.”

_Believe me, you don’t want to teach me. You wouldn’t like how this turns out for you._

“We are part of a prophecy, you and I. Together. Did you know that?”

He looks at her calmly, like the information doesn’t worry him one bit. 

“I did.”

 

…

 

“I don’t like to fuck witches. Usually.”  He says it after the last stitch of clothing has come off of Rey, and her bare cunt is rubbing against his black jeans. Apparently getting himself naked, too, is not a priority of his. “But you… yeah.”

He slides his hand at the back of her head, underneath her hair, and then spreads his fingers to hold her still for his kiss. It’s gentle and sweet and nice and a little life-altering, too. The air is cool against her skin, but their magic—it’s sizzling between them. Screaming, basically.

“It’s the closeness of it. Slipping in and out a person’s head. Letting them in. Not my thing.” He strokes one hand down her back to press her into him, and he is—so big. He’s a _mountain_ , of heat and muscles and pitch-black power. “But with you, I don’t even mind. With you, Rey, it just makes me want to do you more.”

Rey lets out a long whine.

_If I took him inside_ , she thinks, _it would feel good_. Her head or her mouth or her cunt. Which one would be best, that’s unclear.

She lets her hand slide between them, and tries to undo the opening of his pants. Almost makes it, too, except that her fingers are shaking _too much_ , she is _too distracted_. It’s the way he pulls at the well of magic inside her that has her contracting, desperate for friction. 

“Can you—please, can you do it?”

He hums, and one hand comes up to restrain her wrists behind her back. She feels his knuckles part her folds as he undoes the buttons. One hits her right _there_ , and—

“ _Ah._ ”

“When I fuck humans, I like women who are like you.” His cock is out, hot against her inner thigh, but Rey can’t reach for it because he is pushing one of his fingers inside her, and drops of his magic along with it. She holds her breath and lets her head fall back. “Women who get very wet. It gets me _really_ worked up.”

She is just fighting not to come, now. It takes all her energy.

“But never as worked up as this.” He dips to lick at her nipple, slow and lazy, and then he takes her hand and wraps it around his cock. “Stroke it—yes. Just—” He grunts. His voice is quiet, or maybe it’s just the buzzing of their magic, simmering in her blood. “My balls, too.” Rey complies, and he shuts his eyes tight. “Yeah.”

“I can feel you. In my mind.”

“I know. I know, Rey. It’s been _years_.” His breath is hot again her cheek, and their energy flares. “You feel really, _really_ good.” He sighs a low moan and takes her hand away from him. Except that she’s not ready for it, and tightens her hand around his wrist.

“Shh. It’s fine.” He kisses her again, and his taste—faintly bitter and dark and _delicious_. “This is nice. Splendid. But I think I’m ready to fuck you.”

_It hurts,_ Rey wants to say. _That you’re not._ Instead she just holds on to him, to the sinew and the muscle of his shoulders and he presses her down on him, a pinch of pain in her cunt as she fragments around him, the stretch too tight and too deep and too full and—

Just _perfect_.

She hugs her arms around his neck and begins to move, rise and fall, up and down, friction, blessed, _spectacular_ friction—

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” He groans and bites her upper arm, none too gently. “Rey. I need you not to move for a second.”

She tries. She really does. “Thank you,” she gasps out. This. Feels. _So_. _Good_. “For—teaching me how to save her. For your dark magic.” There’s already pleasure blossoming though her. Small, clenching contractions.

“There is no dark magic. Just magic. _Holy fuck_ , your cunt.”

He’s holding her hips still, and drawing patterns on her back with four of his fingers, and Rey won’t pretend she doesn't know that the mark he is putting on her is permanent. His sigil burns into her skin and down her nerve endings, makes heat roll though her. 

“I hope you mean it, Rey.” He is pumping inside her, and the pleasure is getting denser with each thrust. If she closes her eyes, she can see it, the magic bonding them. Luscious and deep and screaming colors. “You have to mean it. Because if this is just fucking for you—you can think again.”

He presses where her spine curves and arches her further, and she can feel his magic vibrate all over her skin; inside her, where he’s about to make a mess of her. It yanks her right to the edge.

Rey blinks her eyes open, focuses on Ren’s, and then nods.

 

…

 

It’s not a warm night, not at all, but she finds herself standing on the balcony wearing his black sweater. 

When he joins her, he’s wearing nothing at all. At least that’s what Rey thinks. She doesn’t bother turning around to check.

“I am going to kill you,” she says instead. “I think.”

“Are you?”

He sounds so unconcerned. But also like he might believe her. It’s hard to tell. Rey doesn’t know what Ren thinks, most of the time. But she knows what he tastes like, and the soft sounds he makes when she kneels in front him, how he looks when he spills in her hand, and that—it seems to be enough. For now.

“Maybe.” She turns around, leans against the railing. Just like she figured—wearing nothing. He runs hot, hot like a wolf. “It’s in my third of the prophecy.”

He nods. “Is that why you’re crying?” 

He pushes away from the glass door and comes closer, picks Rey up and sits on the rocking chair with her in his lap. He tucks her head under his chin, and strokes her skin under her sweater; tracing the sigil on her back, over and over and over.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” His heartbeat his slow, sure. The ground beneath them, it feels firm. “You don’t seem like the killing type.”

“Conquer you.” Rey burrows further into him. “I’m going to conquer you, that’s what Maz’s prophecy says.”

A huffed laugh. Warm against her temple.

“I think,” he says against her hair, “that you already have.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a bunch to [monsterleadmehome](https://twitter.com/monsterleadme?lang=en) for the beta!
> 
> I've been sort of thinking of writing Ben's POV of this story, to see his side of the prophecy and his years watching over Rey (I couldn't figure out a way integrate it in this one shot organically). Would anyone be interested in it?
> 
> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoReylo)
> 
> ETA: OMG OMG OMG check out [this perfect art](https://twitter.com/LilibethSonar/status/1106215180290146304) LilibethSonar made for the fic 😭😭😭I love it so much 💕💕


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